


Born to obey

by ChatDeLaMort



Series: The way to love has speed bumps on it [3]
Category: Numb3rs
Genre: M/M, Orders, Sports, Training, Unusual relationship, obeying, staying sane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChatDeLaMort/pseuds/ChatDeLaMort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian and Colby are both not really talkative. In the army they learned to stay sane by going on. But now, in the real world, they are on their own. So they find their way to not falling apart, one man longing to take control and another one needing to give up the responsibility to deal with everydays bullshit.</p><p>No body contact in this one, just a curious exploration of what might be. Rated Teen for language and the slightest mention of Sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born to obey

**Author's Note:**

> First FanFiction in almost a decade. Why Numb3rs? Hell, I would like to know. 
> 
> My native language is german and I'm not used to write in english, it just felt so much more natural for this one. So far I don't have a beta, but I really have to find one... For this should be the first chapter of three.

_A lonely sports ground. Two men in sports dress. Night is falling. The pidgeon on the street light knows them well, they come here often. One giving the orders. One following them._

 

„Stand up.“

 

There was not much to know about Ian Edgerton. Or maybe there was but so well hidden it would't see daylight in the next century. He preferred it this way, not being predictable, nor vulnerable. Keeping his poker face allowed him to be – and to stay being - the alpha dog. The one in control. With noone knowing his limits, physical or mental, there was noone trying to break them. To displace him.

 

„Get down.“

 

There was not much to know about Colby Granger. Only this one thing – he was surely as hell born to obey. It wasn't just a decision he made because it was easier while growing up with older brothers in a damn small town nobody ever heard of or when joining the army. He never forced himself to take orders, never had to. It came to him naturally.

 

„Up.“

 

It wasn't about following blindly. For him being ordered was always the challenge to put out his fucking best. Operate in the frame conditions by understanding the aim. The intention. Thinking outside the box for best results. Taking responsibilities.

 

„Down.“

 

But this, this was different. This was pure re-acting, responding. To the one clear line in his intricate life that without deduction gave him the feeling to do right.

 

„Sit-ups. Until I tell you to stop.“

 

He didn't hesitate. When Ian Edgerton said „Jump“ the answer wasn't „How high?“. The answer was to jump and to know that if he had wanted a specific height or rate he would have told you. Colby had known this instinctively from the very beginnig.

 

„Stop.“

 

He paused  immediately, arms still crossed behind his head, sweat dropping in his eyes, his breath beginning to speed up. His abs ached, it was their fourth round this evening so far. They would be burning by tomorrow. Remembering him. Keeping the calmess that came with this unusual training.

 

„Get up.“

 

It took him only seconds to change from lying on the back to resting on the knees. The army had a reckless, over the edge pulling training for guys like Colby, specialists for when time was all that did the decision about live or death. It must have been years since he did his last routine by order but his muscles still remembered.

 

„Stand.“

 

Only that in the army he had never ended up on his knees. That was something Ian had put in. He never said anything about it but Colby was sure it was because of the way his thigh muscles got their spotlight in this position. Ian was surely a man for a well trained body. Trained for purpose and life and everyday movements, the muscles used and needed and for that reason kept strong and awake. It was in his eyes, dark and lustful and hungry, when he looked at him and didn't care anymore what he was exposing.

 

„Look at me.“

 

Even while standing, relaxed, wrists crossed behind his back, eyes meeting Ian's the rules were clearly made by only one of them, regardless of the other man's strength and power. And Colby felt again a little bit more grounded.

 

„Run.“

 

And Colby ran. Ran three rounds on the sports ground, until Ian stood on the course, waiting for him, not saying a word but making him stop right in front of him.

 

„Down.“

 

„Get Up.“

 

„Push-ups.“

 

There was mostly silence between them in their meeting hours, peaceful and thick with the untold agreement of two men about a way of staying sane.

 

They parted when they opened up too wide, felt too exposed, well aware that at night both would be jerking off desperately, the scent of loneliness and mistrust on their minds, fingers clawed in the sheets and a gasping so silent it would be like there never was one. Ian with the mental picture of muscles stretching smoothly under sweat gleaming skin, an immense power held only by his command and control. With the thought of touching these muscles, massaging the stress and the pain and his own damn self control away. Colby to a husky, calm voice keeping him from falling apart, leading him through the memory and sense of duty, giving him peace and silence.

 

And when everything had gone crazy because of this damn fucking Janus-list and Colby's cover blown, Ian understood for the first time why it always had to be a thursday they were meeting, always only thursday, not counting how long they hadn't had seen each other and when luck or fortune or the FBI's staff roster gave Ian some space to visit.

On other days they went for a game, a beer, one time even the movies (but they left pretty quickly because they both couldn't stand the flashing lights and pictures and a bass so deep their bones were vibrating). On Thursdays they met in sports dress and burned their fearing and loss and lack of connection to the world they lived in out of their heads.

 

On Thursday evenings, before he went to Ian and the abandoned sports ground one hour outside LA, Colby Granger had written his undercover reports. Asking, week for week, for a reason to keep up.

 

There was not much to know about Ian Edgerton's way of caring. But it was enough to be an answer.

 


End file.
